XHospital
by ghost02
Summary: X-Files characters Mulder and Scully investigate strange events in Port Charles. Complete.


TITLE: X-Hospital   
AUTHOR: Kelso  
CLASSIFICATION: crossover, humor (X-Files/General Hospital crossover)  
RATING: PG (for language)  
SPOILERS: small, for XF episodes Sleepless, Detour, Bad Blood,   
and Arcadia. (In other words, nothing recent.)  
TIMELINE: set late May, 2000. Ignore the events of XF 7th-season  
finale Requiem. Takes place *before* Larkin kidnapped Hannah on   
GH.  
DATE COMPLETED: June 12, 2000  
DISTRIBUTE: anywhere. Private e-mail, mailing lists, websites,  
etc. Just keep these headers attached.  
FEEDBACK: Love it! Send to kelso28@excite.com  
DISCLAIMER: XF/characters owned by CC, Ten Thirteen, Fox.   
GH/characters owned by ABC/Disney.   
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully look into events in Port Charles, New  
York (home of "General Hospital"). Consider it my dream ending   
to the Hannah/Larkin FBI storyline on GH.  
NOTES: Think this sounds like a strange crossover idea? Maybe so,  
but I don't see it as being any stranger than one with Xena,  
Seinfeld, or ER, which other people have written. Anyway, if   
you're at all interested, give it a try. You can always quit  
reading if you don't like it.  
  
  
  
  
X-Hospital (part 1 of 2)  
by Kelso  
  
  
They were being punished. And without doubt, the punishment   
exceeded the crime and constituted a far from efficient deploy-  
ment of their talents. Because after all, anyone could perform   
glorified surveillance work. And not just anyone could investi-  
gate shapeshifters, evil dolls, little gray men, and invisible,   
fat-sucking, or genderbending killers. Or rather, pretty much   
anyone *could* do so, but unless their names were Mulder and   
Scully, they were more than likely to do a piss-poor job of it.  
  
So what, precisely, had the agents done to land on Assistant  
Director Skinner's shit list yet again? Well, they were trying to  
catch a serial killer who was targeting local politicians, and   
Skinner decided to check out the latest crime scene with them.   
During the drive over, Mulder was unexpectedly struck with a   
bizarre theory that Scully thought held some promise. Both agents  
believed they should immediately follow up on the idea. However,  
Skinner disagreed.  
  
So they'd ditched him.  
  
Their behavior wasn't quite as malicious as it sounded. It wasn't  
like they'd stranded their boss in the Gobi Desert with no hope  
of rescue for days. No, Skinner had wanted to make a pit stop at   
Dunkin' Donuts. As he disappeared inside, Mulder tapped his   
fingers on the steering wheel and glanced at Scully. She hesi-  
tated, then nodded slightly. That was all it took. When Skinner   
emerged from the building seven minutes later, clutching a sack  
of chocolate donuts and three plastic cups of coffee, he found a  
white Toyota parked where the gray Dodge should have been.  
  
The fact that Mulder's hunch turned out to be right on the money  
and they arrested the killer that very afternoon did little to   
assuage Skinner's fury at being ditched. Such disobedience could  
not be tolerated.   
  
Scully could somewhat sympathize with the AD, considering that   
Mulder had ditched *her* often enough. (Her only consolation   
was that he didn't single her out for that treatment. He had also  
ditched Krycek on their first day as partners.) Still, though she  
hated to admit it, the feeling of ditching someone--especially  
their superior--was pretty liberating. Until they were summoned   
to Skinner's office for their third reprimand in as many weeks.  
  
They knew it was going to be bad when the secretary gave them a  
pitying look.  
  
***********  
Monday  
10:07 a.m.  
Skinner's office  
  
They survived the obligatory ass-chewing. Then came the painful   
part.   
  
Rubbing his hands together, Skinner began, "First, agents, some  
background on your new assignment: On and off over the past   
several years, the town of Port Charles, New York, has been the  
territory of a mobster named Michael 'Sonny' Corinthos, Jr., who  
specializes in money laundering and union control. Last summer,   
the Bureau assigned Special Agent Hannah Scott to go undercover   
and infiltrate Corinthos' organization in the hopes of finally  
bringing him down.   
  
"Unfortunately, serious rumors of misconduct on the part of Agent  
Scott have been circulating throughout the Bureau. Soon after   
they began living together, Corinthos learned of Agent Scott's   
true identity, but kept that knowledge to himself. He reportedly   
was able to test her loyalty by feeding her false information   
about his illegal activities, which she did not pass on to her   
superiors. Also, Agent Scott may have sabotaged a raid on one of  
Corinthos' warehouses by warning him of it. Most disturbingly, she   
failed to provide any incriminating evidence whatsoever against   
this notorious mobster.  
  
"Eventually, Corinthos apparently tired of Agent Scott's presence  
and rejected her. Since her double life quickly became common   
knowledge, it is considered a minor miracle that she has not yet   
been murdered. She remains in Port Charles, working as a liasion  
between the Bureau and the local police department.   
  
"This case would be troublesome enough if the possible misconduct  
ended with Agent Scott. However,there is a strong possibility   
that her contact, Agent John Larkin, has also behaved inappropri-  
ately. He may have committed various illegal activities so as to   
improve his standing within the Bureau. Most of these acts are   
connected to Agent Scott's father: Roy DiLucca. DiLucca had been  
working as an FBI informant for the past 20 years, in lieu of   
serving a prison sentence for attempted murder. After Agent Scott   
failed to bring down Corinthos, DiLucca was assigned to that task.  
But within a few weeks, he was sent to prison to serve the   
remaining five years of his sentence under the premise that he had   
violated the terms of his arrangement with the Bureau.   
Supposedly, DiLucca befriended Corinthos rather than fulfill his  
duties. On May 1, DiLucca escaped from prison. His whereabouts   
remain unknown. That brings us up to the present. When I heard of  
this case, I immediately thought of you two."  
  
Scully took the ensuing silence as a cue to speak. "Sir, do you   
want us to join the search for this missing man?"  
  
Skinner smiled. "No, Agent Scully, you misunderstood me."  
  
"Then you must want us to bring down Sonny Corinthos," Mulder  
guessed. "To succeed where all others have failed."  
  
Slowly, almost hypnotically, Skinner shook his head. "No, agents,  
I have something extra-special in mind. You are being sent under-  
cover to Port Charles to investigate the alleged improprieties on  
the parts of Agents Scott and Larkin." Taking full advantage of   
their shocked paralysis, he continued, "I must stress that this   
case has not yet progressed to a formal stage, so you may not use  
listening devices of any type, including bugs and wires. And your  
identities must remain secret. To facilitate your investigation,   
you will pose as a married couple just moving to Port Charles. I  
advise you to obtain a room at Kelly's, the diner/boarding house  
where Agent Scott lives."  
  
"Sir, you can't be serious!" Mulder blurted.  
  
Skinner glared at him. "I assure you, Agent Mulder, I am   
perfectly serious. Now, as I was saying..."  
  
***********  
10:38 a.m.  
Skinner's office  
  
As Mulder and Scully exited, Skinner let out a contented sigh.   
They were possibly the most difficult agents in the history of   
the FBI, and he had reached the conclusion that he desperately   
needed a vacation from them, no matter how slim the pretext.   
Therefore, he had set forth to find a case--any case--that would  
remove them from his immediate vicinity until at least the end of  
the week. Ultimately, he had done better than that. The dismal   
assignment he had unearthed was probably worse than any they had   
suffered under Kersh's regime, and that was saying a lot. Those   
two would think twice before they ditched their AD again.  
  
***********  
Tuesday  
4:45 p.m.  
on the flight to Port Charles  
  
Mulder shifted in his seat and extended his legs an inch further   
into the aisle. If he tripped the stewardess, at least the flight  
would be enlivened. Only she was nowhere to be seen. He shifted  
again, brushing Scully with his elbow. Nose buried in the case   
file, she continued to ignore him. He twisted the wedding ring   
around his finger and gave in. "Hey, Scully."   
  
She didn't look up. "What, Mulder?"  
  
Undaunted, he proceeded. "I've finally found proof of one of the   
things I've been looking for for years."  
  
She looked sideways at him, her interest piqued. "And what would   
that be?"  
  
"Skinner hates us. There is no other explanation. It was bad   
enough that he ate our donuts. But this...this is the case from   
hell."  
  
Scully glanced around to ensure that no one else was within   
hearing range. "How would *you* know how hellish this case is?   
You've barely glanced at the file." She shook it for emphasis; a  
photo of a dark-haired young woman fell onto her lap.   
  
"Okay, who's that?" Mulder asked perfunctorily.  
  
Shoving the photo in front of him, Scully replied, "Oh, just one  
of our primary targets: Hannah Scott. You might want to know that  
face."  
  
Silence fell. Thick, suffocating silence. Scully replaced the   
photo. Mulder twisted his ring again. Scully's eyes fell on it.  
"You know, there *is* one bright side to this assignment," she   
decided. "I got to pick our aliases this time. And *anything* is  
better than Rob and Laura Petrie."  
  
'Oliver and Lisa Douglas. Who knew Scully was a "Green Acres"   
fan?' Mulder stifled a groan at the thought of having to answer   
to "Oliver" for the foreseeable future. He should have known that  
his facetious choice of Rob and Laura Petrie as pseudonyms during   
the housing-community case last year would return to haunt him   
when it came Scully's turn to choose names. Admittedly, "Oliver"   
was better than "Fox," though not by much. Which was probably why  
Scully had selected it. But fair was fair. It *was* her turn.   
Unable to argue that point, Mulder silently conceded it and   
changed the subject.   
  
"Yeah, well, this case still sucks," he grumbled. "Skinner   
obviously doesn't believe those rumors are true, and neither does  
anyone else. Because if they did, we wouldn't be sent in on some  
fact-gathering mission. Instead, Scott and Larkin would have been  
questioned straight out, and you know it. We're just stuck with   
this garbage because Skinner got fed up, plain and simple. There's  
nothing even remotely resembling an X-File in this entire   
situation."  
  
"Oh, I don't know about that. I see a bit of a mystery," Scully  
replied, consulting her notes.  
  
"Mystery?" Mulder sat up a little straighter.  
  
"Sure. Assuming that these rumors are true--and the way our  
luck is running, I am fairly confident they are--how did Hannah  
Scott get hired, and why hasn't she been fired? In other words,  
who's she been sleeping with? Besides the mobster, that is."  
  
"This case keeps getting better and better," Mulder muttered,   
slumping back down.   
  
"I've got an idea," Scully snapped. "Let's wrap up this business  
quickly, all right? And try not to piss off Skinner this badly   
again for a long, *long* time."  
  
Apparently, his attitude had pissed her off, as well. They again  
lapsed into silence, which lasted the remainder of the flight.  
  
***********  
6:13 p.m.  
Kelly's Diner  
  
"Thanks, Tammy," Scully said to the blonde diner manager who had  
escorted Mulder and her to their room.  
  
"No problem," Tammy smiled. "You need anything, let me know." She  
retreated down the hall as Mulder closed the door.   
  
"The room is nice," Scully decided, looking around. It was neat,   
clean, a little on the small side for someone used to living in   
an apartment, but overall, quite acceptable. Muted, tasteful  
furnishings dominated, including a double bed, a beige easy  
chair, and a small table that was quickly occupied by Scully's   
laptop.  
  
Mulder flopped spread-eagled on his back on the bed as Scully   
shot him a disapproving look. "So. What now?" He propped his head  
on a thick pillow and watched a spider scurry across the ceiling  
as he waited for an answer.  
  
"Now?" Scully considered carefully. Mulder's immediate deference  
to her was a glaring sign of his disinterest in the case, but she   
didn't mind taking the lead. "Now, we should examine these photos  
of the major parties so we can be sure to recognize them on   
sight. As for tomorrow, I think we can get a good start by  
splitting up. I'll befriend Agent Scott and get what I can out of  
her, and you can go after Agent Larkin."  
  
"And how do you propose that I do that?"  
  
"For some unknown reason, during Agent Scott's undercover days,   
she and Larkin insisted on meeting in plain sight, in broad   
daylight, on the docks--the same docks that are the frequent   
hangout of the local mob bosses. Naturally, they were spotted  
together more than once. In an attempt to protect their secret,  
Agent Scott claimed that Larkin was an ex-boyfriend who was  
obsessed with her. But when a suspicious party checked into this  
story, she easily learned that Scott had lied about Larkin's   
identity. Incredibly enough, those two both still seem to favor   
the docks as a 'private' meeting place. So you can hang around   
there and see if Larkin shows up, who he meets with, and what he  
says."  
  
"Sounds thrilling," he yawned.  
  
"Yes, doesn't it?" Scully replied sweetly. "Just keep in mind, we  
have to come away with a confession of impropriety on the part of  
at least one of them to warrant further investigation. Eavesdrop,  
lie about your identity. I don't care, just get what we need so   
we can leave here fast."  
  
"Sorry to shoot a hole in your little theory," Mulder said, not   
sounding even a bit sorry, "but what if they're both innocent?  
Then there's no way we'll be able to get anything on them, and we  
could be stuck for weeks, looking for evidence that doesn't  
exist."  
  
Scully frowned. "Thanks for pointing that out, Mulder. You just   
bring sunshine into my life every day."  
  
"Thanks. I try my best. Now, how about we forget the case for a   
while and watch the Godzilla marathon on TV?"  
  
***********  
Wednesday  
8:22 a.m.  
Kelly's  
  
Determined to get off to a good start on their first full day in  
Port Charles, Scully went downstairs to the diner area   
first and waited impatiently for Mulder to drag himself down. The  
previous night had been a minor disaster as far as work was   
concerned. Mulder had settled down to watch "Godzilla vs.   
Megalon" and had ended up making paper airplanes out of the case  
notes. She could only hope he put in more of an effort today.   
  
Twenty minutes later, he made his appearance to find Scully  
seated at a counter stool. The waitress, a teenage girl with  
curly brown hair, gave Mulder an odd look as he took the seat   
beside Scully. Meeting his eyes, she blushed and returned to   
work. "What did you tell that girl about me?" he whispered to   
his partner.  
  
"Oh," she answered matter-of-factly, "we needed a good cover   
story to explain why we seem able to run about at will with   
nothing to do other than to take occasional notes. So I let it   
slip that I'm a doctor who has a week off until I start work at   
the hospital, and you're a lazy, good-for-nothing pig who can't  
hold down a job."  
  
"There goes my reputation," he complained.  
  
"If all goes well, we won't be here long enough for it to matter.  
But there's been a slight hitch in today's plan. Hannah must have  
been up at the crack of dawn, because the waitress told me that  
she ate and left more than an hour ago. So I get to wait here for  
her to come back. And you'd better go to the docks to try to find  
Larkin."  
  
"Don't I even get to eat breakfast first?" he protested.  
  
"Grab some toast," she retorted unfeelingly. "The sooner you get  
out there, the better your chances of finding Larkin and   
eavesdropping on an incriminating conversation, *Oliver*."  
  
Muttering under his breath, Mulder headed out the door as Scully   
resigned herself to a potentially long wait.  
  
***********  
9:32 a.m.  
the docks  
  
God, it was unpleasant on the docks: overcast and windy. 'Why the  
*hell* do these people arrange illicit meetings in such a   
place?' Mulder wondered rhetorically. He couldn't even sit on  
one of those convenient--if hard and uncomfortable-looking--  
benches. Because if he did, even the local idiot FBI agents would  
be sure to spot him, and they wouldn't approach within hearing   
distance. So he was forced to lean against a cold brick building,   
stare into space, and wait. And wait. And wait some more.  
  
***********  
9:32 a.m.  
Kelly's  
  
Meanwhile, unaware that Mulder was amusing himself on the docks  
by dreaming up ever more imaginative ways of getting revenge on   
Skinner, Scully continued to loiter at Kelly's. Her self-imposed  
assignment was simple, if unexciting. All she had to do was plant  
herself at the counter, slowly plug away at a huge breakfast, and   
make idle conversation with the waitress, Liz, who seemed to be  
fixated on her boyfriend's mental state.  
  
Considering that the boyfriend in question had recently returned  
from a yearlong incarceration during which his friends and family  
had believed him to be dead, Scully understood Liz's concern. But  
she had other matters on her mind, and listened with less than   
her full attention until 10:18 a.m., when her patience was   
rewarded. A woman matching the photos of Agent Scott entered the  
diner and conveniently selected a stool two spaces away from her.  
  
Pasting a bright smile on her face, Scully caught the other   
woman's eye. "Hello, you must be Hannah Scott. I'm Lisa Douglas,  
and my husband Oliver and I are renting the room next to yours."  
  
"Oh." Hannah smiled back. "It's nice to meet you."  
  
"I hear you're in the FBI."  
  
A shadow passed over Hannah's face. "Yes. Yes, I am." She looked  
down at her hands, steepling her fingers.  
  
"It must be fascinating work," Scully suggested. The vibes she  
got from the other agent indicated that if she kept gently   
pushing, she might make a breakthrough.  
  
Hannah hesitated, then appeared to come to a decision. "Yes, the  
FBI is wonderful. If you don't mind how it tears away your loved   
ones and ruins your life!"  
  
Scully didn't have to fake her surprised expression. She could  
hardly believe that her target was opening up so quickly to a   
stranger. "Tell me more," she pressed cautiously.  
  
And Hannah proceeded to do so.   
  
***********  
10:55 a.m.  
the docks  
  
Emerging from a fantasy in which he blackmailed Skinner into  
giving him a corner office with a sauna and a minibar, Mulder   
decided to check out the bank of newspaper vending machines a few  
blocks away. He sprinted over and eyed the selection: "The Port   
Charles Herald," "USA Today," "The New York Times," and a tabloid  
entitled "The Sun, Special Edition: Secrets of Port Charles!" The  
latter looked like his kind of paper. Fumbling in his pocket for   
the appropriate change, Mulder shoved the coins into the slot,   
retrieved his copy, and returned to the deserted brick building.  
He scanned the docks for signs of the still-absent Larkin, then  
turned his attention to the newspaper. The lead headline screamed:   
"Mysteries of the Undead!" "People who were believed to be dead,  
but who were really alive," the subtitle helpfully explained. A   
collage of photos displayed the faces of dozens of local resi-   
dents, with the accompanying article expanding on the identities  
of those pictured, and the circumstances behind their presumed  
deaths.  
  
Intrigued, Mulder flipped to the next page: a piece entitled  
"Casey From Outer Space." The text read, "In 1990, Casey, an  
alien fom the planet Lumina, arrived in Port Charles in search  
of three mysterious crystals that would enable him to return   
home. With the help of young Robin Scorpio, Casey began to   
collect the crystals. The interference of master villain Cesar  
Faison nearly ruined the mission, but Casey eventually succeeded  
and beamed home. Shortly thereafter, a reporter named Shep Casey--  
who bore a stunning resemblance to Casey the alien--began to air  
on local television. He soon vanished with no explanation."  
  
Moving on, Mulder found himself gazing at lists of local   
residents who had recovered from ailments such as blindness,   
deafness, and paralysis. The columns went on and on, with some   
people's names appearing on more than one. Momentarily forgetting  
why he was on the docks and how much he hated stakeouts, Mulder   
continued to read.  
  
***********  
11:48 a.m.  
Kelly's  
  
"...and then they hauled my father off to prison," Hannah droned  
on. "It's so unfair. I mean, sure, he did try to kill that man,  
but that was 20 years ago. He's paid his dues. What more do they  
want from him?"  
  
Heroically quelling the urge to pointedly stare at her watch,  
Scully instead inquired, "If you hate the FBI so much, why don't  
you quit?"  
  
"Ha!" Hannah scoffed. "I tried to, and Agent Larkin wouldn't   
accept my resignation."  
  
Which news, in Scully's mind, practically sealed the conviction   
that Larkin was crooked. Thankfully, her cell phone rang before   
she had to think of a polite reply. She turned away from Hannah   
to answer it. "Scu--Lisa."  
  
"It's me." Mulder, naturally. "All's quiet on the docks, but do me   
a favor, buy a copy of 'The Sun' and read it before we meet up   
again."  
  
"'The Sun'?" she said. Beside her, Hannah burst into tears.   
"Look, M--" She stopped herself and tried again. "Oliver, I'll   
see you later, okay?" She hung up and turned back to Hannah,   
bracing herself to listen to more whining.  
  
***********  
1:01 p.m.  
the docks  
  
In the middle of reading an article about a dragon bone that  
served as key to an ancient civilization, Mulder heard his cell   
phone ring. "Yeah," he answered, avoiding the use of both his   
real name and his alias.   
  
"You can drop the stakeout," Scully informed him. "According to   
Agent Scott, Agent Larkin just left town unexpectedly and could  
be gone for a while. Anyway, she told me enough about his   
behavior to raise serious concerns. Crazy as it might sound, I   
think we already have what we need to satisfy Skinner."  
  
"I'm on my way." Mulder disconnected and headed toward Kelly's.   
  
***********  
1:25 p.m.  
Kelly's, Mulder and Scully's room  
  
Mulder shoved open the door to find Scully sitting at the table,   
typing notes into her laptop. He shrugged out of his damp trench-  
coat, slung it over the back of a wooden chair, and demanded,   
"Okay, how did you get the information from Agent Scott that   
quickly? Did you pull out the thumbscrews right away?"  
  
"Nothing that dire," Scully calmly replied, saving her work and  
turning toward him. "The woman is a walking basket case. Judging  
from her behavior toward me, she'll tell anyone who asks that   
she's sorry for her betrayal of Sonny Corinthos. If she had   
started crying one more time, I was ready to slap her."  
  
"So, she's still in love with him?"  
  
"Apparently, although she's now dating both a police detective  
and the town drunk. But enough about her. The good news is that   
we can head home on the next flight. Either Skinner will be   
impressed that we did such quick work, or he'll wish it had taken  
longer so we'd be out of his hair. But either way, we're done."  
  
"Wait a minute, Scully. Didn't you read 'The Sun' like I asked?"  
  
She looked at him expressionlessly. "Yes, I looked at it while I  
was waiting for you to get back."  
  
"And what did you think?" Mulder asked eagerly.  
  
"I think you made me read a tabloid full of innuendo, rumors,   
half-truths, and out-and-out lies," she stated flatly. "Come on,  
Mulder, an alien from the planet Lumina? A woman who held   
conversations with her husband's portrait while he was presumed  
dead and living in the Bahamas as an amnesiac? A giant weather   
machine capable of freezing the world? You didn't really expect   
me to believe any of that nonsense, did you?"  
  
Incredulous, Mulder waved his copy of the paper. "But what about   
all of these other incidents? The interrupted weddings? The   
multiple abductions? The evil twins and lookalikes? Look at the  
'Psychopaths' page. Look at what some of these people have lived  
through. It doesn't get any better than this. We can't just drop  
it and leave."  
  
Scully shook her head in annoyance. "Mulder, just because a few   
odd things have happened here over the years, that's no reason  
for you to jump to conclusions. We were assigned to investigate   
Agents Scott and Larkin, not to go off on some wild-goose chase   
that will get us in even more trouble than usual. How can you   
take a tabloid so seriously? It's like believing the stories in  
'The National Enquirer.' Someone's always suing that rag."  
  
Mulder faced her down stubbornly. "Port Charles could hold the   
keys to the answers I've been searching for for years. I can't   
turn away and forget what I've read. I need to learn more."  
  
Scully sighed. "When do you think you'll have time for this   
supposed research? Our assignment is over. We've accumulated more  
than enough information to close it. Mission accomplished."  
  
"I thought that we could delay reporting to Skinner for another   
day or so," Mulder proposed. "He'll never know the difference. We  
can hang around, investigate a little, see what we can find out.   
You know I'll never be satisfied until I can check out some of   
this stuff."  
  
"No," she declared. "We're done. We're out of here. I'm calling  
right now for flight reservations." She reached for the phone.  
  
Temporarily defeated, Mulder could only watch and listen as   
Scully conducted her conversation. But he regained hope when she  
slammed down the phone.   
  
"The soonest flight home is early tomorrow evening," she reported  
in frustration. "We could drive back, but I'd rather avoid a long  
car ride. Tomorrow, it is."  
  
"Look at all the spare time we have," Mulder hinted, watching Scully  
closely for any signs of softening.   
  
"What do you mean, 'we'?" she said. "I'll be writing the report for   
Skinner, as usual. And I can guess what you'll be up to. Well, go   
ahead. Check out this crazy tabloid's stories, if it will keep you   
busy for a little while. Just don't involve me."  
  
Barely registering Scully's words beyond the "go ahead" part,  
Mulder was already dialing the Lone Gunmen's phone number. They   
owed him a favor, and he intended to make them repay it by doing  
some research for him. He'd secure Scully's participation as soon  
as he had more evidence.  
  
***********  
5:50 p.m.   
Kelly's  
  
The remainder of the afternoon passed with Scully clicking away  
on her keyboard and Mulder on the phone in a series of conversa-  
tions with the Lone Gunmen. Scully had just finished the report  
for Skinner when Mulder caught her attention. "The bad news is   
that the guys couldn't confirm the Casey the alien story. There   
are rumors about his existence, but nothing concrete. The world-  
freezing weather machine, though, is another matter. There is   
documentation on that one. As for the presumed deaths and   
medical ailments, Langly hacked into the General Hospital   
computer records and found plenty that backs up 'The Sun's'  
stories. Ready to admit I'm right, Scully?"  
  
"This easily?" She laughed. "I don't think so. All you've shown   
me is that a few unusual events have occurred in this town."  
  
Mulder gave her a long look and shook his head. "Port Charles is  
obviously one huge X-File. And you need more proof?" Rising, he  
continued, "Okay, fine, I'm going to the library to research back  
issues of the local newspaper. Maybe if you read some of these  
stories in a 'legitimate' source, you'll be more inclined to   
believe."   
  
He pulled on his still-damp coat and crossed to the door, looking   
at her one last time as if expecting her to change her mind and   
accompany him. But she steadfastly ignored him, reasoning that   
one of them had to be sensible and give the tabloid the amount of  
attention it deserved: none. Because Mulder's theory was way   
off...wasn't it?  
  
  
END 1/2  
  
  
X-Hospital (2/2)  
  
***********  
Thursday  
8:23 a.m.  
streets of Port Charles  
  
They'd breakfasted at Kelly's but failed to encounter Hannah,   
which was fine with Scully and didn't bother Mulder too much.   
Rather than confront his partner last night after his trip to the  
library, he'd opted to wait until morning, when she'd presumably  
be in a more receptive mood. But he wasn't sure he'd calculated  
correctly. When he'd led her out the door, she'd looked like she   
was on the verge of turning on her heel and stalking back inside.  
But for whatever reason, she'd instead obediently trailed him   
down the street, stopped when he stopped, and stood gazing   
expectantly at him.   
  
Apparently, she felt like she'd given him more than enough time   
to speak, because she prompted, "What now, Mulder?" in a tone   
that implied, 'Why did you drag me out here at 8:23 a.m. when I'd  
much rather be sleeping in?'  
  
He gestured around, grateful that unlike yesterday, today had   
dawned clear and warm. "Examine the streets and sidewalks   
carefully. What do you see?"  
  
She surveyed the area. "Pavement. People. Cars, trucks, minivans.  
Litter--bits of paper, candy wrappers, soda cans. Nothing else.   
What am I supposed to notice?"  
  
"Nothing," he repeated. "That's precisely it. There's not a   
Morley butt in sight. Isn't that a thought-provoking, if welcome,  
change?"  
  
"I've also noticed that nearly everyone is thin," Scully pointed   
out. "Maybe the townspeople are just extremely health-conscious."  
  
"The answer to that is an emphatic *no*. Although rarely stricken   
with the flu or the common cold, an abnormal number of Port   
Charles residents become drug addicts or alcoholics, and there's  
a pretty high incidence of mysterious ailments unknown to the   
rest of the world." He thought back to their arrival in town.   
"And correct me if I'm wrong, but Port Charles is a small city   
neither of us had ever heard of before. Yet it has an incredibly  
busy airport with numerous international flights to places such  
as Venice, Cairo, and Barcelona. You have to admit it; you saw   
the flight boards, too. And how do you explain some of these   
other things, like the many, many, many people who have been  
falsely presumed dead?"  
  
"I'm thinking you fit right in around here. You've been presumed   
dead a time or two yourself over the years." She shrugged.   
"Okay, I give up. How do *you* explain it?"  
  
"Maybe vampirism, like that one case in Texas where we met the   
buck-toothed sheriff? Anyway, that's the best theory I've come   
up with so far."  
  
"Oh, give me a break," Scully groaned. "First, Sheriff Hartwell   
did not have buck teeth. Second, I don't for a minute think there  
are any vampires within flying distance of here."  
  
"Fine, you come up with a better theory," Mulder challenged. "It  
would really help if you pitched in and gave me your opinion, you  
know."  
  
"I can give you my opinion right now," she offered.  
  
He shook his head. "No, thanks. You have to put in some effort  
first."  
  
"What sort of effort?" she asked suspiciously.  
  
He held up a piece of paper with two long, neatly penciled lists,   
and indicated the left-hand column. "See this tally of local   
abductees?" Gesturing to the other, longer column, he continued,  
"And this one of presumed deaths, in which the subjects turned   
out to be alive? I suspect that these people were all victims of  
alien abductions. After all, we know that an alien landed here at  
one point."  
  
"No, we do *not*--" she began.  
  
"Just go with me here," he interrupted. "I want you to examine  
some of these people's medical records. I believe you'll find   
evidence even you can't refute."  
  
"That would be a blatant invasion of privacy, almost certainly a   
waste of time, and not quite how I want to spend my day," Scully   
replied. "The only way I'll do it is if I'm able to access the   
original hospital files without my authority being questioned by   
medical personnel."  
  
Mulder hesitated. Scully seemed secure in the knowledge that no  
reputable medical facility would allow just anyone to saunter in   
and view confidential papers. What were the odds that the local  
hospital was any different? Still, he didn't have much choice  
except to trust that it was.   
  
"Go to General Hospital," he advised his partner with as much  
confidence as he could muster. "There are other hospitals in   
town, but according to Langly, anyone who's anyone goes to that  
one for treatment."  
  
"I won't be there long," she warned. "And I might well have to   
show my badge if security is called in. But at this point, it   
probably doesn't matter if our covers are blown. Not that I'm   
about to begin advertising our true identities. For as long as  
possible, I'm still Lisa and you're Oliver, at least in public."  
  
"Whatever," Mulder agreed. "I think you'll be at the hospital a   
lot longer than you expect. Call me when you're done."  
  
"Great," Scully sighed. "While I'm there, what will you be up   
to?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sure I can find plenty to keep myself occupied,"   
Mulder responded vaguely.   
  
And on that note, they parted ways for what turned out to be   
several hours.  
  
***********  
2:42 p.m.   
General Hospital   
  
Shaking her head in dismay, Scully refiled Bobbie Spencer Brock   
Meyer Jones Cassadine's folder and exited the records room. It   
had taken her three trips, arms loaded to overflowing, to collect  
the material relating to all of the victims on Mulder's list and  
cart it to a nearby waiting room for closer study, yet not one  
person had given her a second look.  
  
Even worse, the information in the folders, while not quite what   
Mulder had anticipated, was still damning. Scully knew what she   
had to do. She walked down the hall in search of the nearest   
pay phone, but was distracted by the sight of a man conducting a  
conversation on his cell phone right outside a patient's room.  
"Excuse me," Scully broke in. "You aren't supposed to use cell  
phones inside a hospital. They can interfere with medical equip-  
ment."  
  
The man looked down his nose at her. "I am Stefan Cassadine, I  
own this business, and I always speak on my cell phone." He   
turned his back to her and resumed his conversation.   
  
Glancing around for security, Scully spotted three more people   
also on their cell phones and dismissed the idea of reporting   
them. Patient safety and privacy evidently were not high on the  
priority list at General Hospital. But she wasn't about to   
unnecessarily risk lives herself. She located a pay phone around   
the corner, cancelled her and Mulder's flight reservations for  
that evening, and headed for the elevators. She was twenty yards  
away when she heard a moan nearby. Then another, and another. It   
sounded like someone was in pain. Following the noises to their  
source, Scully found a twenty-something blonde woman curled in   
a waiting-room chair, tossing in her sleep. Before Scully could  
decide whether to wake her or to move away, the woman jolted   
awake and opened her eyes.   
  
"I'm sorry for disturbing you," Scully apologized.  
  
"No, it's for the best." The woman pushed herself into a sitting  
position and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I was having   
another psychic dream, and they're very intense."  
  
"Psychic dream?" Scully repeated warily.  
  
The woman nodded. "It's a complicated story. Probably boring to   
anyone besides me."  
  
"No, I'm a doctor," Scully said. "Maybe I can help."  
  
"I doubt it, but it would be nice to talk about it. Oh, and my  
name is Chloe." The blonde extended her hand.  
  
Shaking it, Scully lied, "I'm Lisa. Now, about those dreams...?"  
  
"Well, it all began earlier this year when I was blinded in a   
hit-and-run accident. I regained my sight, but then my doctor   
found out that I had a brain tumor, and I started having the   
dreams. Like sometimes, I see my accident from the perspective of  
the driver who hit me. Weird, huh?"  
  
Not bothering to restrain herself, Scully nodded. Chloe's story  
actually sounded worse than weird. "Did you say you were blind?"   
she questioned.  
  
"Temporarily," Chloe confirmed. "But my doctor was great. You   
probably know him: Tony Jones."  
  
"I'm new in town," Scully quickly covered.  
  
"You'll like Tony," Chloe assured her. "He understands what I'm  
going through, because *he* used to be blind and have a brain   
tumor. He didn't have dreams like mine, of course, but I guess he  
kind of made up for that when he went crazy a couple of years ago."  
  
"Crazy?" Scully said. "You don't mean...?"  
  
Chloe smiled. "Tony is very strong. He fought his way back from  
the edge. Just like Dr. Quartermaine, the Chief of Staff. Many  
remarkable people work at General Hospital."  
  
***********  
3:48 p.m.  
Port Charles Grille  
  
Mulder's cell phone rang at an opportune moment. Though he had  
spent the morning and early afternoon roaming the streets and   
soaking in the atmosphere of Port Charles, he'd ended up at the  
bar of the popular local restaurant. He had proceeded to ask the   
other patrons whether they had ever seen any aliens or strange   
lights in the sky (reasoning that Casey from Lumina must have   
made more than one appearance), but the answers were all nega-   
tive. And for some time, he'd found himself on the receiving end  
of suspicious looks from the bartender, despite the fact that he  
had only been drinking mineral water.  
  
"Hello," he answered the phone under the bartender's watchful   
eye.  
  
"Mulder, it's me," came Scully's voice, "and I'm warning you, at  
all costs, avoid landing in the hospital. I don't trust the   
doctors there to treat a hangnail. The chief of staff is a   
recovering drug addict who tried to murder his wife on more than  
one occasion. Another doctor went temporarily insane and kid-  
napped a baby. And three years ago, a resident performed brain   
surgery with a power drill while being held hostage by a serial  
killer. More recently, he completed an unauthorized bone-marrow   
transplant on a boy who was once thought to be his son, but who   
was really his brother's child. And he's still on staff. So watch  
your step. By the way, I cancelled our flight reservations."  
  
"Okay," he replied slowly. "Can I assume that you found out  
something about the alien abductions?"  
  
"I'll meet you back at Kelly's to talk about it." Scully hung up,  
and Mulder exited the Grille, no doubt to the bartender's relief.  
  
***********  
4:25 p.m.  
Kelly's, Mulder and Scully's room  
  
"You didn't find any evidence of alien involvement in even one of  
the abductions?" Mulder asked, disappointment clear in his voice.  
  
"No evidence," Scully confirmed. "I compared pre- and post-  
disappearance medical records, and found none of what you claim  
are the classic indicators of alien abduction." Seeing Mulder's   
crestfallen look, she hurried on. "But you'll be interested to   
hear that I uncovered many, many other irregularities. For   
instance, say someone's blinded. No problem. Before they get   
around to learning Braille, they miraculously regain their sight.  
Paralyzed? They're up and walking again within the year without  
so much as a limp to remind them of their ordeal. It's happened   
too many times to be pure coincidence. And before you ask, no,   
no one in town purports to be a miracle healer."  
  
"You *were* busy today," Mulder said in admiration.   
  
"I'm not done," Scully replied. "I haven't filled you in on the  
woman who's been experiencing strange nightmares that she   
attributes to her brain tumor. She's the one who told me about  
the doctors. She's being treated by one of them, and she claims   
he's a wonderful person who just went a little around the bend  
because his girlfriend, who was his ex-wife's daughter whom she   
gave up for adoption at birth and reunited with as an adult,  
cheated on him. Interestingly, the girlfriend is the only one of   
the bunch who spent time in a psychiatric facility. I still   
haven't quite figured out how she got out. And guess what? She's  
also Sonny Corinthos' fiancee, and Roy DiLucca's girlfriend's   
daughter. I can't begin to explain what's wrong with this town,  
but something definitely is."  
  
There was a moment of silence as Mulder digested that informa-  
tion. "I have a few things to add," he eventually offered.   
"Nothing quite as spectacular as your discoveries, but   
intriguing nonetheless. For instance: These people do not own   
normal pets. No cats, no parrots, no hamsters, no ferrets, no   
goldfish."   
  
"I've seen three dogs and a duck," Scully countered.  
  
"I repeat, *normal* pets. That duck once took the witness stand   
during a murder trial." Off of her skeptical look, he protested,  
"Hey, I can show you the transcripts as proof. I found out a   
*lot* at the library last night."   
  
"Oh, I believe you," Scully relented. "I can't argue with the  
material I uncovered. Port Charles is one big statistical   
anomaly."  
  
"Better than that," Mulder said assuredly. "For a small town,   
it boasts an unnaturally high number of international movers and  
shakers: the Quartermaine family, the Cassadines, and one Jasper  
Jacks, whose attempt at getting married a few years back was   
ruined by his not-so-dead first wife. Add to that the fact that   
the local divorce rate tops off at approximately 96%, most adults  
over age 30 have given birth to a child they either forgot about  
or kept secret, and a mobster is regarded as public citizen   
number one, and it seems like the townspeople are all suffering   
from a form of mass insanity. Scully, I'd like your medical   
opinion. What could possibly be afflicting them?"  
  
"Excellent question." She settled back in her chair and started  
reeling off her observations. "We know that newcomers are not   
immediately impacted, since we're still okay. It's only after   
people have lived here for an extended amount of time that they  
are affected. If they move away, they usually recover and go on  
to lead normal lives. The problems don't extend to nearby   
Buffalo, or we would have heard about it long ago. So I have to   
conclude that either the local water or air supply is contami-  
nated."  
  
"Scully, keeping your mind open to all possibilities, you have to  
admit that the air or the water might not be the source of the  
problems."  
  
"True," she agreed. "So?"  
  
"So... we need to look into other explanations. If we can find   
someone who knows the town well, they might be able to help."  
  
"Like the mayor, or the district attorney? How about the police  
commissioner? Surely, he or she has noticed some of the abnor-  
malities we've spotted. That sounds like a good place to start."   
She headed for the door, but stopped when she didn't hear Mulder   
following.   
  
"Um, Scully?" he said.  
  
"Yes?" She turned and looked at him. He wouldn't meet her eyes. A  
sick feeling spread through her. "Not him, too," she pleaded.  
  
Withdrawing a folded piece of paper from his pocket, Mulder   
handed it to her. "Read it and weep."  
  
Scully smoothed the photocopied sheet and read the opening lines  
aloud: "'Commissioner Malcolm 'Mac' Scorpio, a former mercenary   
who turned over a new leaf, has gone from blowing up bridges and   
sabotaging ships to making Port Charles a safer place to live.   
Along the way, he has overcome major misfortunes, including a   
1997 kidnapping in which his life was taken over by an evil   
lookalike.'" She folded the paper and returned it to Mulder.   
"Somehow, I don't think the commissioner is going to be of much   
help."  
  
"His wife is a real piece of work, too," Mulder informed her.   
"She's an Aztec princess who's had amnesia twice, had a husband   
return from the dead, been falsely convicted of attempted murder  
and sentenced to a psychiatric hospital, given birth to one   
daughter while under a table in a nightclub, and been kidnapped,   
temporarily paralyzed, and stalked by a psychopath and his   
identical twin brother. I don't think I left anything out."   
  
"If you did, I'd hate to imagine what." She thought briefly.   
"All right, obviously the commissioner's appointment is somewhat   
suspect. But there must be some competent detectives or officers   
on the force, right?"  
  
Mulder shook his head. "There is a trail stretching way back into  
history of people who have gone up against the Port Charles   
Police Department and come out the worse for it. Their top   
detective--who, incidentally, has been dating Agent Scott--is   
most noted for regularly overstepping his authority and nearly   
being charged with harassment every few months. Actually, the   
entire force seems pretty inept. They have an especially   
bad track record when it comes to murder investigations. You can  
just about bank on the fact that the first suspect they arrest  
will be innocent. And in a shining moment not so long ago, they   
attempted to prosecute a case in which the 'victim' was still   
alive."  
  
Scully groaned. "Mulder, I think we need to talk to that person   
and get a statement. Because frankly, what you say is scaring me.  
Badly."  
  
"Unfortunately, we can't talk to her. Katherine Bell was murdered  
last year."  
  
Confused, Scully questioned, "But I thought you said she wasn't   
really dead?"  
  
"She wasn't, the first time," Mulder clarified. "She was pushed  
off a parapet in both 1998 and 1999. In 1998, she didn't die. In  
1999, she did."  
  
Scully held up a hand. "Enough. Why don't we move on? Is there  
anyone in town who experienced some of the crazier events?   
Particularly the alien from Lumina, or the dragon bone."  
  
"Not surprisingly, the principals involved are pretty much all   
dead, or certifiably insane. Either that, or they've left town."  
  
"Well, if I ever lived in a place where a substantial portion of  
the residents had come back from the grave, I'd probably want to   
move away, too," Scully admitted. "We keep running into dead   
ends, don't we? But I think that despite the horror stories   
you've uncovered about the police department, we should see if   
the commissioner can shed any light on this matter."  
  
***********  
5:37 p.m.  
police station  
  
They made their way to the police station without incident and   
approached the receptionist, who was chewing bubble gum and  
reading the "Bedside Astrologer" column in "Cosmopolitan" while   
the phone at her elbow rang unceasingly.  
  
"Excuse me." Scully waited until the woman looked up. "We'd like  
to see Commissioner Scorpio."  
  
"Sorry, he's not in."  
  
"Do you know when he will be?" Scully asked.  
  
The receptionist blew a large bubble before responding. "It's   
hard to say. He's in and out all the time. If he's not running   
off to argue with his wife about the well-being of her children,  
he's fighting with the FBI over who has jurisdiction in the   
latest arrests. Just now, he went to tell off his wife's new  
boyfriend."  
  
"Who's in charge when he's not around? Does this place just  
run itself?" Scully wondered.  
  
The receptionist shrugged. "Yeah, more or less."  
  
Mulder opened his mouth, but Scully jumped in before he could  
say anything. "Thank you for your help," she told the reception-  
ist, who promptly returned to her horoscope as Scully ushered   
her partner out of the station.   
  
"That's it," Mulder declared. "I get to choose our next stop.   
Come on, Scully." He started down the street.  
  
She hurried to catch up. "Where are we going?"   
  
"You'll see," he replied mysteriously.  
  
***********  
6:08 p.m.   
Luke's Nightclub  
  
They entered the dimly lit building, which was about three-  
quarters full, as jazz music and chattering voices assaulted  
their ears. Pausing inside the doorway, Scully asked, "Why are we  
here?"  
  
"We are conducting research," Mulder informed her. "This happens  
to be a very important place. This is Luke's Nightclub."  
  
He knew the exact moment the full impact of his statement struck  
her, because her eyes widened slightly. "This is *the* nightclub,  
isn't it?"   
  
"The club where Felicia Jones gave birth under a table? Yes," he   
confirmed. "There was also a nasty shootout here in December of   
1997. All in all, this isn't the safest place to be. But then,   
where in Port Charles *is*?" He spotted a vacant booth against the  
far wall. "Why don't we sit down?"  
  
Taking their seats, they checked out the scene. Almost immedi-  
ately, Mulder spotted a familiar-looking group standing near a   
stage: an older woman with red hair, a thin man with a goatee, a  
blonde woman, a fair-haired teenage boy, and a dark-haired little  
girl. "See there?" He pointed for Scully's benefit. "Those are   
the Spencers. They had their own section in 'The Sun,' complete  
with color photos. Every member of that family has at one time  
or another been presumed dead, except for the daughter. But she's  
only five; her time will come."  
  
As they watched, the man mounted the stage, followed by several   
musicians and a Hispanic boy of about 16. Spencer adjusted the   
microphone and addressed the crowd, calling, "Hi, everyone!"   
  
A chorus of "Hey, Luke!" and "Hi, yourself!" greeted him.  
  
Spencer continued, "We have a special treat for you tonight. Now,  
I know this is a blues club, but even though his music doesn't   
fall under that umbrella, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to   
promote one of Port Charles' own: Juan Santiago, accompanied by   
The Idle Rich! Juan is performing his signature song, 'We Got The  
Night.'"  
  
Spencer exited the stage, the crowd quieted, the music began, the  
singer warbled the opening lines, and Mulder and Scully winced in  
unison.  
  
They listened to several bars before more or less recovering. Then,  
shuddering, Mulder glanced at his partner, whose jaw had dropped.  
"I haven't heard singing this bad since you did 'Joy to the   
World' in Florida," he shouted, straining to be heard above the  
cacophony.  
  
Seemingly not offended by his opinion of her vocal talents,   
Scully yelled back, "It's a good thing the locals support him,   
because I don't think anyone outside of this town would!"  
  
The occupants of the neighboring booth then waved at them to be   
quiet, and Mulder and Scully were forced to sit in miserable   
noncommunication for the duration of the seemingly interminable  
number. At the conclusion, the audience--with two notable excep-  
tions--burst into frenzied applause. Juan and his back-up left  
the stage, and the sounds of soft jazz and mingled conversation  
quickly filled the room.  
  
"Somebody better tell that kid to get a day job," Mulder mused.  
  
Grimacing, Scully was about to reply when her cell phone rang.  
"Hello," she answered. "Yes, sir... Of course not. That's just   
the radio... Yes, we have... Tomorrow?... Yes. Goodbye, sir."   
Ending the conversation, she addressed Mulder. "That was Skinner.  
He heard the background noise and wanted to know if I was in a   
nightclub."  
  
"What did you tell him?"  
  
"No, obviously. It's bad enough that we haven't reported in to   
him yet. If he knew what we were really doing, he would have even  
more reason to be pissed. Anyway, we need to be back in D.C. by   
tomorrow afternoon. Skinner has a new X-File for us, and it must  
be something good if he's willing to call after 6 p.m. to order   
us home."   
  
"Why don't you go alone?" Mulder suggested. "Our work here is far  
from done, and one of us needs to keep at it. Besides, Skinner  
doesn't really need to see me. You can tell him everything you  
learned from Agent Scott."   
  
Scully laid a hand on his arm and looked at him seriously. "You   
have to go back, Mulder. You've been in so much trouble over the   
years, disobeying another direct order could be the last straw.   
You could finally be fired. And then what would you do?"  
  
"No problem," he said dismissively. "I know where I can find a   
high-ranking job with flexible part-time hours, no references   
needed, no questions asked. How does 'Commissioner Mulder' sound   
to you, Scully?"  
  
"Not very good, unless I get to be 'Mayor Scully'," she objected.  
"After everything we've been through, thre's no way I'm letting  
our partnership split up. If you stay here, so do I, and I'm not  
exactly looking forward to the prospect. Be honest: Aren't you at  
all worried that you would be bored by small-town life?"  
  
"Not really. This place has a higher murder rate per capita than  
Washington, D.C. does, and it seems to be a magnet for the  
paranormal. How can I resist?"  
  
"Look, I'll take some air and water samples home so we can run  
them through the labs," Scully bargained. "They'll probably prove  
that some chemical substance is afflicting the residents and   
causing their unnatural behavior. Then you'll have a logical  
explanation. And aren't you curious to hear about the new case?"  
  
After some consideration, Mulder reluctantly nodded. "Okay, I'll   
go back. For now."  
  
***********  
Friday  
3:15 p.m.   
outside Skinner's office  
  
Skinner's secretary was away from her desk, and he was making   
them wait. All in all, the signs were inauspicious. Scully   
glanced at her watch, sighed, and settled in for the delay.   
Before she could get too comfortable, her cell phone trilled.  
  
"Scully," she answered. "Yes, that's right... And?... Nothing?   
Are you sure?... No... All right. Thank you." She ended the call   
and turned to Mulder. "I'm sorry, Mulder. The lab did a rush on   
the air and water samples, but didn't find anything out of the   
ordinary."   
  
"Then how do you account for everything we learned in Port   
Charles?" he demanded. "Your logical, scientific explanation was  
shot down. Where do we go from here?"  
  
She shrugged helplessly. "We chalk it up as one more unsolved   
X-File? I don't know. I really thought the labs would turn up   
*something*."  
  
"But--" Mulder said, just as Skinner's office door opened.  
  
"Agents," he called.  
  
They entered and sat facing their boss.  
  
"Before I fill you in on your new assignment, I would like an   
overview of your findings in Port Charles," Skinner stated.   
"Agent Scully?"  
  
Looking Skinner in the eye, Scully said forcefully, "There was a   
time when one actually had to be qualified to join and remain in  
the FBI. Has that day truly passed us by? Because Agents Scott   
and Larkin appear to be sterling examples of all that is wrong.   
The mystery is, why weren't they fired long ago? And when Agent  
Scott tried to resign, why didn't they let her?"  
  
Slightly stunned, Skinner turned to Mulder. "Is there anything  
you would like to add to Agent Scully's account?"  
  
"No, sir, that about summed it up."  
  
"Well." Skinner exhaled a long breath. "I look forward to reading  
your reports, then. As for your new assignment: A videotape has  
fallen into my possession that features footage of a supposed  
alien and a doll that came to life in a small New England town  
called Harmony..."  
  
  
  
END 2/2  
  
  
  
  
MORE NOTES: The final line, about the new case, is a reference to  
events taking place on another soap opera, "Passions."  
  
I am working on a sequel to this story that should be ready in   
August of 2000. It will feature substantial interaction between Mulder  
and Scully and the GH characters.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
